


i hope you think my favorite song

by notalone91



Series: LoserFest 2021 [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Letters, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunion, derry townhouse smut, loserfest2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29188416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91
Summary: There's a letter that Eddie never sent.  He brought it with him to Derry, hoping that he might remember something more about its intended recipient.  When it makes its way there, he's shocked to find out what type of letter he'd written before leaving Derry.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: LoserFest 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138544
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	i hope you think my favorite song

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 - Inspired by a track from Debut. (Tim McGraw)

The night at the Inn was a long, stressful one for all of the Losers. As he lay in bed, praying for sleep or death to consume him before Richie had to get up and deal with whatever the fuck Mike had in store. He had removed his thick glasses and folded his arms over his face, trying to block out any sense that he was in Derry of all fucking places.

“Rich? Can I come in?”

Without so much as opening his eyes, he moved to the edge of the bed. “Come on in, Eds.” He should have known. He couldn’t avoid this part for long. He felt the mattress dip beside him and his breath hitched treacherously. Every muscle in his body constricted. If Eddie were to touch him, he thought, he’d know. He’d remember and the jig would be up. Every unkind word that every critic or Hollywood asshole had said over the last 20 years would never and could never compare to the things that had been said to him in Derry. “What can I do you for?”

For the briefest of moments, Richie wasn’t sure that he was right about the identity of his visitor. He was fairly certain that Eddie had never been this silent in his presence. Even when his mouth had been otherwise occupied. Don’t think that, he thought, not while he’s right next to you. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Eddie said, voice low, then added, even more quietly than the first time. “I always slept better when you held me.”

So, there it was. Death would be claiming him before sleep, he supposed. Either this wasn’t Eddie and the clown was using his vulnerability against him, he was already dead and this was his brain’s dopamine-induced dying wish, or it was real and his heart was going to stop altogether. Whatever the case was, he was not going to be getting out of this bed in the morning. 

His panic must have taken longer than Eddie expected. He shifted awkwardly. “You don’t have to, I mean,” he babbled, “but I just didn’t want to be alone and I… I remember some stuff, I think, and I know that we used to share a bed all the time, so I thought it might not be so weird, but you’re like 9 feet tall now so if this bed is too small or if we’re too old for this or if I’m misremembering and it wasn’t you, just let me know and I’ll go back to bed in my own room and you’ll never hear another word about it from me, Richie, I swear, but I think that I’m right and maybe-” 

Interrupting the rambling of the smaller man, Richie scooted closer and snaked his left arm under his neck, rolling him closer so his head rested on his chest. All he could hope was that his heart wouldn’t betray his nerves by beating too loud. “Whatever you need, Spaghetti.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he grumbled halfheartedly. Still, he moved closer, hooking his left leg over Richie’s. Before long, he was humming himself to sleep, trailing his fingers absently through the hair on Richie’s chest, peeking over the neckline of his t shirt. 

Finally, Richie opened his eyes. He had just about expected to see their teenage selves, awkward and lanky and sunkissed, instead of the aging men they were. “Is that George Michael?”

Truthfully, he hadn’t thought about it. The melody had just come to him. “Yeah,” he said, confused as to its origin. “Praying For Time.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s my favorite song,” Richie said, tilting onto his side a bit. He wasn’t sure what Eddie was playing at, but it wasn’t particularly funny. “It always makes me feel-”

“Loved?” Eddie finished. He smiled. “That would be because it was my favorite song when we were younger. We used to dance to it out at the quarry. You hated it. You made fun of me for my awful taste in music, but you’d always dance with me if I asked.” He rolled onto his stomach and propped himself on his elbows. “Is it really your favorite now?”

Richie didn’t know what to say. Yes, it was. It conjured up really conflicting images, but he would hear it out at bars when he first went to LA and get really emotional and have to leave. One guy, on the smaller side, had followed him out into the side alley one night, trying to cheer him up. He didn’t know how to explain that the bittersweet melancholy that had washed over him wasn’t a bad thing. It was just a feeling.

He would always go home alone those nights.

Now, he knew why. It was Eddie.

The bed dipped again and Eddie was up. Richie, confused by the change in tone, called after him. “Where are you-”

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” Eddie answered in a hushed tone. “I just need to get something.”

Richie propped himself up on his elbows. “I have condoms and lube in here, if that’s what you’re going for,” he joked.

From across the hall, he heard a drawer open and shut. As Eddie returned and climbed back into his bed. “Of course you do,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I wanted to show you this.” In his hand, he held an old, yellowed envelope, sealed with an old Leaky Lindsay Garbage Pail Kids sticker. He couldn’t remember, truly, what was in the letter, but it was addressed to My Asshole Future Whatever. There was only one person it could be for. “I wrote this for you. I wanted to, uh-” Eddie’s voice trembled weakly. “I wanted to drop it off to you before I left, but my mom wouldn’t stop. I don't know what's in it, I've never read it back, but I brought it with me. I just..." he trailed off and handed it over. "I know it was supposed to go to you. I can feel it. So, I mean, it doesn’t change things and it wouldn’t have helped, but-”

Taking it and turning it in his hands once, then twice, Richie slid his finger under the flap. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and replaced them. The letter was long. 3 pages, front and back, of things that Eddie needed to tell him before he left. Richie sat there and read every word carefully.

Eddie, to his credit, managed to give him space, as much as could be expected in a full-size bed, anyway. He watched carefully, trying to discern Richie’s reaction.

Upon finishing the last page, Richie set the loose-leaf pages down on the side table, got up, and took a lap of the room. Eddie leaned across, trying to read the letter himself, but Richie clicked his tongue reproachfully. He shut the door and leaned his back against it. 

“I wrote it, asshole,” Eddie said, displeased by the idea that he was being barred from viewing his own creation. “I think I deserve to read it before you start talking to me about it and I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. It was over 20 years ago, Richie and, in case you’ve forgotten, we forgot each other for years. There was a curse or whatever actively blocking us from remembering-”

Richie scrubbed at his face, then stared straight at Eddie. “You can read it. Just let me prepare you, okay. I don’t hold you to anything. But…” He trailed off and closed his eyes, trying to ignore any other sensations that were beginning to arise. “That’s a- That is a Penthouse letter, Eddie,” he said, pointing at the letter and moving around the room once more until he was squarely in front of Eddie. “It is not a list of words you never said. It’s not a mushy declaration of love. It’s a- It’s a harlequin novel on steroids mixed with a journal entry and, I don’t know-” He looked up at the ceiling trying to come up with a fair comparison. Eddie, on the other hand, turned bright red, cheeks burning. “Like, every wet dream I had between the ages of 11 and 18. And some that I had in the interim which I don’t know how you could possibly have known about or if they existed because you put the idea in my head or… I don’t know. But Eddie,” he lowered his stance so that he is closer to Eddie’s sightline, his expression more tender and serious than Eddie had seen. He tapped the letter and kept his hand on it. If it were a bible, he’d be ready to swear an oath. In fact, he was fairly certain that he’d be more apt to be truthful if he swore on that than on a bible. Still, he continued, “if I’m gonna die tomorrow, that letter is my 12 fried shrimp, bucket of KFC, French Fries, and Strawberries.”

“Hot,” Eddie said sarcastically, wishing desperately that he didn’t understand the reference.

Richie shook his head. He pulled the letter and handed it over, raising his hands in defeat as Eddie started to read. “Like, Eddie, you have to understand,” he said, rambling over the silence, “I was kidding about the condoms. Not my possession of them, but suggesting that we…”

Heart rising in his throat, Eddie was impressed with his teenage self’s suggestions and guts. This was hot. It was raunchy and specific and really… something. He swallowed, turning onto the second page as he read a detailed account of how- “I see no mention of condoms here,” he noted.

Mouth dropped wide, Richie balked. “I…” He moved to sit on the bed, tension knotting in his belly. “We were exclusively seeing each other and had only slept with each other. Again, I don’t hold you to-”

“I’ve still only ever had sex with you,” he said, without raising his eyes from the paper as it described something that he was sure he would have enjoyed as a teenager, but at forty, his back and knees cried out in horror. “If you say that you’re clean, I’ll believe you wholeheartedly,” he added.

The insinuation that he'd never even slept with his wife was not lost on Richie,, and he filed it away for bothering him about later. As it was, he couldn’t believe they were actually discussing it. “As a whistle,” he said, bewildered, holding his hand up in a scout’s honor sign. “Truthfully, it’s been a long time anyway, but that’s beside the point, Eddie. That letter is a lot. I-”

Placing the letter on the night table, Eddie turned to face Richie and smiled. “I’m in,” he stated plainly. His voice was calm and level. He meant it. The letter excited him, sure, but it didn’t scare him. He’d know the first time he saw Richie’s face that night. This was bound to happen this way. Something told him that it needed to happen in order for everything to work.

“You’re-” Richie stammered, taking Eddie’s hand in his. “Eddie, you’re married,” he said quietly, as though trying to protect his secret from the walls.

“I won’t be if we get out of here alive,” he said, sliding his ring off and folding it into Richie’s hand. "I don’t..." he sighed, searchingfor the right words. " _I_ didn't marry her. So much of me has been locked away for so long. Now, I can't. I can'tgo back to that.

Richie looked down at his hand, dumbfounded by the small gesture. He understood the feeling. “I’m out of points to make,” he said. He looked over at Eddie who was smiling mischievously.

“Thank God,” he breathed. 

He wasted no time pivoting from the side by side position they’d been into straddling Richie’s lap. As he moved in for a kiss, Richie grabbed his face and pulled him in. He made quick work of getting his hands under Eddie’s polo and tossing it to the side.

Impatiently, Eddie rocked him onto his back and kissed down his stubbled jaw as he nimbly undid the buttons on his shirt. Finding himself suddenly at Richie’s waistline, he thumbed over the mounting bulge slowly before flicking open the button, freeing Richie from his pants. He yanked the jeans and underwear down to the floor and smiled, kissing up Richie’s left thigh. He licked one long line up the length of him.

“If it’s been years,” Richie said between gasps, “you’re picking up where you left off beautifully.” He watched as Eddie worked one hand over his length. He started to mouth down over the tip and his hips hitched involuntarily. “Fuck.”

Letting him relax for a moment, but continually tracing the now developed lines of the veins with his gentle thumb, Eddie mused, “Everything about you got so much bigger since last time. I don’t know if it’s all gonna fit.” He bobbed down on it once, twice, then managed to take most of the length into his mouth.

Richie was fairly certain that he was making a bigger show of it than was strictly necessary, but he was not going to complain. Not when Eddie was doing that thing with his tongue and -  _ oh God, _ \- how had he forgotten about the tongue thing. He reached down into Eddie’s soft hair and carded through it. He was trying to hold on, but it’d been so long, and Eddie was so fucking good at that.  _ Fucking little shit talks too much. His tongue is too strong.  _ “Eds, please,” he practically begged. 

Eddie backed off, licking around the sensitive tip. “Is that what you want?” he asked, taking one of Richie’s hands in his and climbing back up onto the bed. “Because I wasn’t sure.”

Panting a little, still shell shocked, Richie propped himself up on his elbows. “You painted a pretty clear picture in that letter of yours,” he said, voice heavy with intent. “You must want that, too.”

Eddie stepped out of his slacks and started to stroke himself idly, slowly attempting to catch up to Richie. He leaned in and kissed him, once, then twice. “I want you, Richie,” he said, “doesn’t really matter how.”

“Fuck, man,” Richie hissed, practically knocking them both over in his eagerness. He reached past Eddie down into his duffel bag coming back with the condoms and lube. He kissed Eddie once again, then whispered, “You’re gonna have to be quiet, though.” He trailed one finger lightly down his neck to his chest. “The others are asleep and I seem to recall someone getting the cops called on us.”

“How was I supposed to know that someone actually lived all the way out there?” Eddie laughed, moving in closer, rubbing his hands around both of them. He remembered the instance well. Richie had taken him camping for his birthday, the theory being that, if you were farther from civilization, less people could hear and you could be less inhibited. That was fair, except for the realization that the red and blue lights in the distance were coming for them. They quickly cleaned up and made it seem innocuous enough. “If they can’t tell the difference between someone getting fucked and getting murdered, they should really see about finding someone to take the edge off,” 

It was easy enough for Richie to find the same places that always drove Eddie crazy. He trailed his fingers down his back and over his tailbone a time or two before coming back to unbutton his pants. He trailed them over the defined arch of Eddie’s ass and then kissed Eddie again. He gently smacked Eddie’s bottom, then danced his fingers up and down. “Do you need someone to take the edge off?” Richie asked 

Eddie nodded, reaching for the lube from the corner of the mattress. He handed the bottle to Richie, trying not to notice the way their hands were both trembling. Working some onto his hand, he started finger by finger as Eddie continued to ask for more. “You think you’re ready,” he asked once he’d worked his third finger in and Eddie was practically crying out.

Finding a groove was simple. It was returning home. Eddie’s legs around Richie’s waist, his hands in his hair. Richie with one hand on Eddie’s waist, one hand on his neck, pulling him in to kiss him whenever he wanted, whenever he could get him to stop talking. The further toward the edge he got, the more he needed to tell Richie exactly how beautiful he was and how amazing it was and how much he missed his cock. He remembered, now, that that was how he had been, even then, but this was new heights. Richie had always had that trait, too, but now, God, he just wanted to appreciate Eddie. They didn’t know if they would get this moment back and it was too perfect to let it slip away. It all worked in a way that he could never have imagined.

“Fuck, Eds,” he whimpered. He knew that Eddie was close. He was hitching his hips upward with every thrust, chasing his finish. Richie trailed one hand down Eddie’s chest, trailing it’s way down to help him out. “I wanna,” he panted, not sure how to ask for it. “We used to…”

Eddie smiled and leaned back on his palms. “If you wanna finish together, you’ve gotta be close, Richie,” he says, wrecked, but still bossy, bordering on annoyed. “I can’t hold on much longer. You’re-” he felt Richie shift under him and knew it was working. Richie thrust upward into him harder, faster. “You’re so-” He tried to come up with the words-- He did, but if he was going to focus on waiting for Richie, he couldn’t do both. He’d waited long enough.

Reaching up to kiss him again, Richie can feel Eddie start to leak into his hand. “Now,” Richie says and they both let go in a wave. He hadn’t been sure that they’d be able to do that, still. It had taken them months to get each other’s timing and rhythm down until they could tell. 

As he rode out his high, slumped against Richie’s chest, he kissed his shoulder gently. “I-” he wanted to say how he felt. He wanted to tell Richie just how much this meant to him. But he stopped. “You’re amazing,” he said, using what little energy he had to roll off of Richie, who slid down in the bed beside him, immediately taking him back into his arms.

Richie remembered how Eddie used to desperately need to get cleaned up after, so he rolled back, giving him more freedom to move, if he needed to. "Not leaving yet, are you?" Eddie asked.

"We're in my room, asshole, so the one leaving would be you," Richie laughed, rolling back toward him. "I'm never leaving you again, dude."

For a moment, one fleeting, still moment, Richie forgot what had brought them together. There was no promise, no curse. He pulled Eddie closer and kissed the top of his head. In this room, they were safe. 

\--

The office building’s in house speakers must have been playing some 80s station on Sirius or something. As Richie sat waiting for his umpteenth meeting of the week about a new tour, new material, new image-- new everything--an old George Michael song hit him like a truck. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Hey, Rich, how’d it go-”

Richie smiled. “Haven’t gone in yet. Praying For Time is on and I was thinking…” his voice trailed off. Through the receiver, he heard Eddie laughing and his desk chair pushed back a little. “You answered my prayer for more time. You know that right?”

He rocked back on the edge of the chair and rested his shoulders against his office wall. “When you get back here, I’m not letting you out of my sight for days,” he glanced out the door of his office and added, “probably not even out of our bed.”

Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and scrubbing his hand over his face, Richie sighed. “Promise? I’m so done with meetings.” He leaned down and groaned, stretching his neck then stood up. “I can’t wait to come home.”

“I’ll be waiting.”


End file.
